onward

All at once it’s only you and the wide open blue, a shunt and a shade in wait of replacement, the numbers only there to paint by. There’s the open window, there’s the climbing pine, there’s the words left behind after the reckoning has been reckoned once the writing has been put down. Reasons and whispers left in letter form, these remaindered oaths and mothballed loves left in books and boxes, some ancient tenders waiting to clout you out of the mists of memory. An exchange of epithets when an epitaph would do. Slings and arrows and all manner of swearing, the stranger there in stark relief.

You strung the noose, you signed the letter, you looked to find satellites in lieu of stars. You know the moon is waning from the mentions in the margins, you know the laundry is washing from the racket of the contraption. Strata of ash and embers curling smoke as the cigarette dangles, an accumulation of intentions sacrificed to fire and blood as the clock winds down. Burdens and blessings trading hats and jackets, some tv mystery playing out there in the thud and wheeze of the heart, dull reactions and worn through promises where your love used to go.

The camera in your head follows the lead, always looking for a clue as entrances become exits, rushing the door as if one more action will solve the case. The mirror holds your gaze as the ghost gives up, listless beneath these mortal sentences, the verdict all that is left of self. Chores and appointments in exchange for the conceit of a soul, motive the first thing to go. A load of laundry to place in the dryer, a dial to turn, a switch to flip. Some last evil to face farther down the line, a horizon further into dust. Something to slip into, something to kick over in the ruckus of the reel.